No Questions, Yet Answers
by Latebloomnriter
Summary: Murdoch and Johnny learn more about Scott's Civil War experiences.


No Questions, Yet Answers

Note: To the best of my knowledge and belief, this story is fair use of copyrighted material, as there is no commercial use and no loss of potential market or value of the original material will occur

Murdoch and Johnny learn more about Scott's Civil War experience.

Murdoch saw the advertisement in the paper. There was to be an exhibit and presentation by Civil War veterans, including "never before seen photographs" taken directly from battlefields. The presentation and exhibit were to be held in San Francisco, when the family would already be there on business, and for some recreation.

Murdoch was unsure how to mention this to Scott. He generally said nothing about the war; it remained a part of the son about which Murdoch still knew little. He finally folded the paper so that the advertisement was displayed prominently, and left it where Scott would see it.

Scott definitely saw it. Murdoch saw him from behind, pick up the paper, seeming to study it for a few moments, then set it down. Murdoch never saw his son's expression. At, least, Scott knew of the exhibit and would attend if he so desired.

Murdoch planned to attend. He, Johnny, and Scott, all indicated their desire to explore about on their own. Murdoch imagined that he alone of the family would see the images and hear the narration, and he would better understand the experience.

He studied the images on the walls, showing the serious faced young men and the variety of arms. Camp images seemed almost homey, followed by scenes of the ruined fields and many corpses. He thought about hearing only one side of the story. As a Scotsman, descended from a Highland clan, he knew only too well that the winners wrote the history.

Prison. There was an image of a man liberated from a prison camp. Skin barely covered the bones, showing the kneecaps and hips through the emaciated form. Murdoch unconsciously rubbed his stomach, comfortably full after dinner, and fought a battle not to lose the meal right there in room. _Dear God, my son. Thank you for sparing him._

He could not have imagined what he heard. Accustomed to skirmishes and gunfights with small bands of people, he was stunned to hear the vivid descriptions of thousands of people on battlefield, hours of marches, and masses of casualties. The veterans were good and dramatic speakers, and Murdoch heard of hours of boredom, drills, and marches, interrupted by terrifying times of battle. There were accounts of bravery and sacrifice, with lives lost in battles of great consequence, of little import, through carelessness, bad decisions by commanders, and fire from the soldiers' own side. All of what comprised a war.

Murdoch heard through the speakers' voices the deafening sounds of artillery; screams of men and horses; and gunfire, and found himself rubbing his fingers over his ears.

He smelled the smoke from artillery, so thick a man could barely breathe. Murdoch felt his throat constrict, and stifled a cough.

He smelled too the decaying flesh, and the stench in the field hospitals, where wounds and infection were treated by amputations which hastened the deaths which in these days of better resources, could have been saved. Murdoch swallowed the bile back down his throat.

He learned of the songs sung in camp, the games, and mascots to hold the armies together, and warmed to those comforts.

Then there was talk of prison. Murdoch focused even more intently on this. He heard of boots taken, and switched with threadbare footwear of the Confederates, and miles of long marches to prison. Murdoch's toes curled inside his boots.

There were the increasingly reduced rations of cornmeal, sometimes filled with mouse parts, given to the prisoners. He learned of activities meant to maintain spirits, sanity, and retain humanity in inhumane conditions. Sometimes it failed, and Murdoch learned of the souls whose awareness flickered and went out, retreating down deep in men, possibly never to be lit again, even if the body was spared. There were descriptions of escapes, and punishment, and Murdoch shivered at the bucking and gagging administered by the guards.

Murdoch absorbed it all, and bled for his child.

There was an intermission. Murdoch rose and stretched, having the horrifying thought of what Scott had felt after being bucked and gagged, because surely there was punishment given to the sole survivor of an escape attempt. He glanced back at the photos of the starved prisoner, and blinked in surprise.

Johnny stood there, staring at the picture. Murdoch watched as Johnny's hand shifted to hover over the butt of his gun.

_He can't help it, it's instinctive with him. He sees a threat and harm to his brother, and wants to protect him. But there's no one to call out here. Not anymore._

The lecture resumed and Murdoch resumed his seat. He heard of life for the returning soldiers, lingering ailments, the re-enlistment of some, and for many, a move westward. He learned that for many the experience of the war lived on, with reminders in many small things, and more powerful reminders from recurring dreams and wounds, and permanent scars. It was over, no, not really ended for so many, not for the survivors, or those left behind.

"Murdoch." Murdoch wasn't sure when Johnny had learned of his father's presence. They stared at each other for a moment. "What made you come here?"

"The same reason you did, I suppose. I was looking for answers."

Johnny studied him, the intelligence and shrewdness beyond his years showing in his eyes. "Answers," he repeated. "Without havin' to ask any questions."

"Do you suppose he would have said anything, if asked?"

"No, no, I reckon not, but _shit, Murdoch_, all this-"

"I know. It's more terrible than I ever imagined. For Scott to come through this, and put it behind him, is quite remarkable."

Now Johnny's eyes, so often with the look of an aged soul, seemed as ancient as time. "Murdoch, no one could ever really put this behind him and forget about it. Man just finds a way to live with it, is all, if he's lucky, and find a new path ahead of him."

Murdoch sighed. "Yes, I suppose you're right. We'll just have to watch if Scott is troubled or suffering from it, and be ready to help him, whether he asks for it or not."

Over the next few days at the ranch, Scott noticed a change in the behavior of his father and brother. He saw Murdoch's eye frequently on him, full of compassion, and felt Murdoch's hand squeeze his shoulder more often than usual.

Johnny was even more blatant. Scott found his chair pulled out for him, his coffee poured, and Johnny subtly positioning himself between Scott and anyone who wasn't part of their immediate little family foursome.

Obviously Murdoch and Johnny had both seen the exhibit. At least they weren't asking any questions.


End file.
